


Go to the Creek

by Zagzagael



Series: Deadwood Season 4 [1]
Category: Deadwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zagzagael/pseuds/Zagzagael





	Go to the Creek

She watched, a bit bemused, as he wolfed down a second bowl of the elk stew. It pleased her deeply when he responded to her cooking with such enthusiasm. Little else she did since William’s death seemed to evoke such passion from him.

She reached for another biscuit, she preferred bread and vegetables in contrast to his hunger for meat and broth. As she coaxed open the biscuit with the tip of her knife she found herself remembering how much she had craved meat, organ meat the most, when she had carried William. She took a quick bite, swallowing hard, she could not allow her mind to wander such paths.

The bite was too big and she felt it catch in her throat. Demurely, she pressed the back of her hand against her lips and tried swallowing. Hard. It hurt and she could feel the bread lodge more stubbornly into her windpipe. She coughed, striving for a polite sound, but soon realized that her airway was blocked. Quickly she reached out for the apple cider, her eyes wide and scared over the rim and finally he looked up and saw her plight.

He was on his feet and around the table and she coughed again and this time manners were forgotten as the cider and the biscuit became the source of a violent choking. She tried to wave him off, but he had her up under the arms, the chair clattering to the floor beneath her. He pressed her quickly, urgently over the arm he had under her breasts and laid the open palm of his hand with force against her back. Still she choked. And once again and this time her throat was cleared and a racking cough of relief sputtered forth.

Behind her, she could feel him shaking. Both arms around her now, pulling her back into his body, breathing out her Christian name into the nape of her neck. She was nodding, reassuring him, trying to bend at the waist and reach for the chair, but his hold was fast and suddenly she was overcome by his sudden and surprising and obvious need of her. She settled back against him and felt his lips drag down the length of her throat, he wasn’t asking this time, he was demanding. She reached out for her napkin, wiped her mouth clean, pinched her nose with it and tossed it back onto the table. She wanted desperately to turn in his arms but she was so afraid, afraid of how unpredictable he had become, how volatile he could be. She let him lead.

She had not been able to discern what it was about her that could act as water on the fire, so she lowered her head. He growled into the whorl of one ear and she could only respond in like and pressed herself back towards him. Quickly he caught her up in his arms, cradled her against him and made for the stairs.

The bedroom was dark but his step was sure, his hold on her still fast and assured and she could only let her mind clear itself of all unpleasant discourse between them, all sharp words and short emotions. She breathed out and let her eyes slip closed, feeling the heat of her body beneath her simple gingham dress, feeling the male strength of him as he carried her to the bed and followed her down as he lay her there.

 

They both seemed to come awake at the same moment. The room was still dark as pitch, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with the scent of their bodies. He sat up quickly, his head cocked and he found the spirit lamp on the small table at his elbow and lit it expertly. The room leapt with yellowed shadows and then he was out of bed and she settled back against her pillow watching the light of the lamp catch the shape and form of him. He was beautiful.

He was at the window, the curtain drawn, the sash thrown, leaning out and listening. The noises were unusual, she could hear that now and joined him as he watched.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer, leaning further out over the sill, straining to see back and down the wide thoroughfare towards the saloons.

“Oh, dear God. It’s a fire.”

She would later wonder how they had both gotten dressed with such speed. His boots hit the floor and he was gone. She flew down the stairs after him, her hair loose and long. "What do you need me to do here?"

In the kitchen the lamp had burned low, the table still set with the dinner they had abandoned.

"You need to gather essential things. Wait for me if you can. I need to get to the livery...that stallion..."

He stopped at the door, pulling it open, letting the sounds of the camp, the fear, fling themselves into her house. He turned back. "If I'm not quick, if there's not time...Martha, go to the creek."

She nodded.


End file.
